


Desperate Times

by Lhugy_for_short



Series: Kingdom of Ruin Verse [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Brainwashing, Cannot stress enough that this is dark and fucked up okay, Chains, Collars, Dark Ending AU, Dark!Noctis, Depression, Extreme psyhological trauma, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gangbang, Heavy Angst, Horror, M/M, Mind Games, Probably all downhill from here, Smut, adding some tags here we go, collaring, hopelessness, lots of trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/pseuds/Lhugy_for_short
Summary: In the darkness that haunts the Citadel, Prompto is the last remaining ray of hope. King Noctis sits atop the ruined throne with Ignis chained to his side. Gladio, the Dissenter, has been banished to the dungeons and left to die. Outside the walls of the castle, the rest of the world rots away beneath an eternal night sky. Prompto is determined to find a way to save it; but to do that, he must first save his friends.Ardyn, meanwhile, sees in him a golden opportunity for his own amusement.(Takes place alongsideKing of Ruin)





	1. Desperate Words

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, if you haven't read [King of Ruin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10820835) (the Ignoct side), I recommend starting there. It puts this DarkVerse into perspective.
> 
> Second, this story (the Promptio/Promdyn side) is going to get weird. Like, we're talking MT gangbangs and shock collars and maybe even demon dicks weird. If you're down for that, then welcome. If you're not down for that, this is your chance to escape while you can :) 
> 
> Picked up again for Promdyn Ship Week, but I plan to see this through to an eventual, and probably miserable, end. Suggestions are welcome, feedback is strongly encouraged *puppy dog eyes* On with the show!

 

A candle serves as his only light as he twists and winds his way through the Citadel. It’s taken him weeks to learn his way around the unfamiliar halls, the countless rooms, mapping out the palace he’d once only explored in his dreams. But that was a lifetime ago.  _ That  _ world, the one where hope once dared to exist, is gone now. 

Ardyn made sure of it. 

Prompto clenches his teeth as he clings to the shadows of the corridor.  _ Ardyn _ . It’s his fault, all of this. The eternal night, the dull, clouded moon. The broken ruins of Insomnia, abandoned and overrun with monstrous demons. And Noctis, too, who now claims to be the King of this fucked up darkness. Who sits on his father’s throne and denounces the gods, who hurts Ignis - his beloved  _ Ignis! _ \- in the name of his false ascension. 

But he knows that  _ thing _ wearing his best friend’s face isn’t the real Noct.  _ No _ , he would never, ever turn his back on all of them like this. Everything is lies - lies, stuffed into his head by that...that  _ demon _ . And no matter what it takes, Prompto is determined to set things right. 

But first, he needs to save the one person left who can help him.

* * *

 

Without the light of the sun, it’s difficult to tell how many days have passed since he’s last seen Gladio. The dungeons are usually under heavy guard, courtesy of Ardyn’s own personal otherworldly pets, and it isn’t easy for him to sneak past unnoticed. Prompto might have relative freedom within the castle compared to his other friends, but he’s hardly an invited guest. If Noct found out about his visits to the lower halls - or worse, if  _ Ardyn  _ knew - he'd likely be leashed to the same kind of chain Iggy now wears. 

Shuddering, he forces the thought from his mind. Distractions like that are something he can't afford in this constant game of survival, especially not when the others are counting on him. So he focuses instead on the dimly-lit steps in front of him, climbing down one by one as silently as his boots will allow. Carefully, carefully, until at last he reaches the bottom and the cells of the dungeon come into view. 

There's a little more light down here. Not much, but the torches on the wall provide enough illumination for Prompto to snuff out his own candle without losing track of his bearings. The candle he shoves in his back pocket -  _ waste not _ \- and begins to make his way along the corridor toward the cell where Gladio is kept. Third on the left, and Prom can already tell from the smell that he’s the first to visit in  _ awhile _ . 

“Heyas...big guy.” His voice sounds unnatural in the stale silence of the dungeons, but the second the words leave his mouth the cell comes to life. Gladio, hair a wild, dark mane around his haggard face, pushes himself up from the pallet where he’d been resting. He looks tired, worn thin, with lines worried into his forehead, around his mouth. Yet his eyes are just as piercing as ever as he turns them on the figure beyond the bars. 

“Fuck you,  _ jester!”  _ he snarls, loud enough to send Prompto staggering back from the cell. _ “ _ I’ve had enough of your games.”

“Woah, Gladdy - it’s  _ me _ , it’s alright!”

“Stop!” Large hands, shaking with rage, with hunger, twist in his hair, and Gladio bows his head as if in pain. “ _ Please _ , stop. Not again.”

The blond fights back the lump building in his throat. Every time.  _ Every damn time  _ it gets worse, seeing Gladio fall apart like this. No matter how hard things got before, he had always been their rock, their kick in the ass when they’d needed it most. More than Noct, more than Ignis, Prompto had always looked to Gladio for strength. 

But now, his strength is waning. Imprisonment, solitary confinement, Ardyn’s mind tricks - a lesser man would have fallen long ago, but even someone as powerful as the former Shield of the King isn’t impervious. Gladio is running out of time. 

“Hey,” Prompto soothes, struggling to keep the fear out of his own voice. “Hey, look at me, big guy. Come on, it’s me. You know me. Would I ever lie to you?

A snort, decidedly unfriendly, but Gladio slowly drops his hands back to his lap. Amber eyes focus in on him once more. 

“I promise it’s the real me. I snuck down here to bring you something.” With Gladio’s wary but undivided attention still fixed on him, Prompto keeps one hand up in offering while the other slips into the bag at his hip. The first thing he pulls out is a small, black cylinder - a can of Ebony - which he sets on the floor just inside the bars. Gladio perks up noticeably. “And one more treasure I found while I was cleaning the kitchens.”

The sob he releases is music to Prompto’s ears. “Sorry I couldn’t get any hot water or anything,” he begins, but his apology is cut short as Gladio’s hands close over his around the crumpled styrofoam cup of noodles. 

“ _ Prom. Is it…? _ ”

“Yeah. It’s me, buddy.” 

His fingers are dirty, caked with grime and dried blood where he’s spent hours - days, maybe - trying desperately to claw his way through the rock walls. They tremble, too, as they reach out through the bars to stroke a familiar, freckled cheek, but Prompto doesn’t mind. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch, allows Gladio to guide him forward until bother of their faces are pressed to the cold iron bars, their mouths crashing together after far too long apart. 

The kiss is frenzied, but ultimately chaste. Their lips slide apart slowly, reluctantly, neither one wanting to let go yet both unwilling to chase it further. There will be other times, other places. But now, they have to talk. 

“How long has it been?” Gladio breathes against Prompto’s mouth. “Since the last time?”

Swallowing, the blond wonders briefly if he means the last visit, or the last time they….

He opts for the former. “A few days, four or five maybe.”

“ _ Gods _ , it feels like I’ve been down here for  _ years.” _ Settling down at last on the floor, Gladio snatches up the can of Ebony and downs half of it in one go. Then, as Prompto lowers himself to sit across from him, he rips open the styrofoam cup and digs in like a starving man. “Anything new up top?” he asks around a mouthful of dry noodles. 

A wry smile. “Not much. More demons, more darkness. I was hoping to get a letter out of the city, maybe track down some of the old Glaives, but it seems like....” His voice falters. “I don’t think there’s anyone left in Insomnia.”

Gladio chews a little slower. “No one? Shit. And what about N -- “ Amber eyes darken. He stops himself, sneers, and tries again. “What about Iggy?”

_ Iggy. Poor, poor Iggy. Naked and chained at the foot of the throne. Broken, bruised, and bloodied in the name of a king he loves too much.  _ Prompto’s heart aches, and yet, for Gladio’s sake, he can’t bring himself to speak the full truth. Instead, he answers him with a shake of his head. 

“Oh.” The former Shield isn’t totally in the dark. He remembers watching Iggy ascend the steps toward the throne. Remembers him bending the knee for Noctis, for  _ Ardyn  _ at his back. Remembers the way his eyes clouded over as he was stripped and lashed and claimed for the powerless gods and mortals alike to see. 

That memory still haunts him every time he closes his eyes. 

“And you?” he asks quickly, needing to focus his thoughts elsewhere. “Are you safe?” 

Prompto’s laugh is as dry as Gladio’s ramen. “More or less. I try to stay under the radar, y’know. As long as keep working, no one bothers me really.”  _ No one _ meaning Ardyn and his horde of pets, who patrol the Citadel like some kind of demonic mall security. He’s had a few close calls with some of the lesser creatures, but so far he’s managed to avoid getting in the way of the  _ real _ nasties. 

On the other side of the bars, Gladio seems to read into his words. He nods slowly, solemnly. Then, his deep voice cracking, he slumps forward. “I should be out there with you, Prom. What the  _ hell  _ good am I to you - or  _ anyone _ \- in here?” 

Blue eyes sink to the ground. Prompto’s words feel empty even before he says them. “You did the right thing.” 

A mirthless laugh. “ _ Sure _ . Denounce the Coward King, and get my ass thrown in jail to rot. While Iggy’s up there being tortured, and you’re ducking around corners trying to survive--!”

“So, what? Even if you’d bent the knee like we did, none of us would be any closer to escaping this shithole.”

“I could fight.”

“Ardyn would kill you.”

“He could  _ try. _ ”

“Gladio.” Thin fingers reach through the bars to clasp a trembling fist. Amber eyes lift to meet sweet, summer blue, and the blond offers a weak smile. “I’m gonna find a way to get you out of here. When I do, I need you focused, sane, and most importantly  _ alive _ . So try not to do anything reckless in the meantime, yeah?”

Behind a veil of thick, dark hair, Gladio’s expression tightens. For a moment, he looks as though he wants to say something more. But then the fire in him burns out, and he sighs as he nods his head. “Yeah. You’re right. Least I can’t get up to too much trouble in here, huh?” 

His attempt at a joke has Prompto’s fingers squeezing tighter around his fist, until at last he uncurls the tension and turns his palm up to return the gesture. Gladio’s lips tremble. “Prom. I know...I wasn’t always there for you. There’s a lot I wish I could take back, get a second chance to do over right.” 

“Gladio….”

“I never told you how much you mean to me. Even after everything we -- “ He stops, shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter now. But if I don’t say it know I might never get the chance again.”

Those fingers slide between his own, and Prompto isn’t sure he remembers how to breathe. 

“I love you, Prompto. I’ve loved you for a long fucking time. Just...didn’t know how to say it.” 

_ It hurts. His chest, his lungs, his heart - everything hurts. This isn’t how things were supposed to happen. None of this is right; not the timing, not the place. Not the guilt that overpowers his feeling of joy, knowing his friends are upstairs suffering while the words he’s been waiting to hear for nearly a year fall flat in the space between them. A quick fuck through the bars would have been more appropriate, and suddenly he’s wondering why the hell he even came down here in the first place because --  _

“My, my, my. What a truly  _ precious  _ moment this is.” 

Prompto whirls around faster than he can catch his balance. Falls back on his ass as Ardyn steps out of the open door of the neighboring cell, his shadowed face painted in a smile. “I hope I haven’t interrupted the thrilling conclusion? Oh, I do hate cliffhangers.”

“You  _ son of a bitch!” _

Gladio is charging to his feet in an instant, rattling the thick iron bars with the force of his body’s impact against them. “Come a little closer,  _ jester _ , so I can  _ tear that smirk off your lips.” _

“ _ Tsk _ , violence isn’t always the answer, you know. Besides,” Ardyn grins, striding right past Gladio’s straining grasp until he’s towering over Prompto instead. “I’m here for this one.”

Blue eyes flare wide. 

With Gladio’s snarls of rage filling the dungeon, Ardyn bends down and curls his thick fingers in the front of Prompto’s shirt. Gives an effortless tug that yanks the blond up again, holds him steady as he flails for balance. Inside his chest, Prompto’s heart is racing with an icy panic. How long had Ardyn been there? How much had he heard? 

“Enough,” comes the toothy smile, and yellow eyes flash in amusement as the color drains from Prompto’s face. “I wonder how our dear King Noctis would feel to know of his best friend’s plans to betray him?” 

“I…. I wouldn’t….” 

“Ah, but I think you  _ would _ . You swore an oath, you bent the knee.”

“ _ N-no….” _

“Yet here you are, plotting to turn your back on your king and run.” Ardyn’s face draws nearer, his lips close enough to Prompto’s that he can smell the decay on his breath. Cruel fingers twist around his chin, force his gaze past broad, heavily garbed shoulders to face Gladio instead. He’s watching, deflated and helpless, from the behind the bars, as Ardyn sneers against Prompto’s ear. “Or was  _ that part  _ the lie?”

Tears sting at the backs of his eyes. The fingers on him are cold, hated, digging into his flesh hard enough to bruise and yet the pain is nothing compared to his fear.  _ I’m going to die _ , Prompto realizes, his stomach twisting into knots. If not by Ardyn’s hand, then surely by Noct’s when he finds out what’s been going on behind his back. Then there will be no one left to save Gladio, or Ignis. If he dies, hope dies with him. 

Ardyn’s voice is quiet in his ear. “Perhaps not.” 

Then, louder for Gladio as well, “I’ll admit your dear pal upstairs has...lost his charm as of late. He’s actually quite dull when he isn’t trying to kill me, or crying about his dead bride-to-be-that-never-was. Taking over the world is less fun when there’s hardly anyone left to toy with, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Prompto blinks owlishly. Gladio snarls from inside his cage. 

Without missing a beat, Arydn continues. “My point, as it were, is that you have a choice. Face the wrath of your king and suffer the consequences, or submit to me and live to see another... _ well,  _ metaphorical day.”

“You’re  _ crazy _ ! Get your hands off of him, or I swear to the Six I’ll -- “

A flick of his wrist. That’s all it takes and suddenly Gladio is flying backwards across the cell, a dark blur that collides with the solid wall hard enough to crack the stone, scattering rocks and debris in every direction. Prompto doesn’t even have time to scream before Gladio’s body is slumping to the floor. His head rolls to the side, the unmistakable glint of fresh blood already streaming down his face. 

“No…,” Prompto hisses, then louder. “ _ NO! Gladio!!” _

Ardyn’s arms catch him easily before he can rush forward. “Easy, pet. I imagine it takes more than a little head trauma and some cracked ribs to stop a beast like him. But… _ hm.  _ Blood loss, on the other hand….”

“Fuck, please!  _ Let me go! _ ”

“I’m still waiting for your answer.” 

Before his terrified eyes, the vision of Gladio’s limp form is swallowed up in yellow. A cold, heartless yellow that turns his screams to bile in his throat. Ardyn is close,  _ too _ close, and too powerful, his grip like a vice as it tightens around his throat. 

"What’ll it be, pet? Life…or death?" From inside the cell, Gladio gives a feeble groan. Prompto’s fingers itch with the urge to rush to him, knowing full well that if Ardyn so willed it then  _ both _ of their lives would end in the blink of an eye. "Clock is ticking."

“Help... _ him!” _

A voice like gravel next to his ear. “And in return?”

Prompto breaks. Whatever Ardyn wants from him, it's his. He bows his head. "Anything."

"Excellent choice. Victory always tastes sweeter when the lamb walks willingly into the feast." 

Before the words can register, he hears a cough, and a groan, and then Gladio is falling forward onto his palms as he sucks in a desperate breath.  _ Alive. _ Prompto doesn't bother to stop the tears as they begin to fall.  _ Gladio is alive. There's still hope. _

"Now. About my reward." 

He's slammed up against the bars of the cell with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. His face cracks against the cold iron, sending bolts of pain like lightning up from his left cheek. His fingers grip the metal, an attempt at balance despite the way his head is suddenly spinning - but Ardyn's arms around him are more than enough to hold him in place. Ahead of him, he can see Gladio moving, crawling forward, face drenched in blood. Both of them just as trapped, just as helpless as the other. 

For once, Ardyn makes no preamble about his work. There's no teasing or taunting - there's no need. He's won. His hands under Prompto's shirt are torment enough, cold and hated and cruel in their false affection. The way his mouth moves over Prompto's neck, those lips curled in an ever-present smirk, mocking him in silence. 

And all the while, Prompto watches in horror as Gladio's eyes regain their focus, as he wipes the blood from his face and recognizes too late the scene unfolding right in front of him. 

A show, on display for a solitary audience. 

Prompto can't look. He shuts it out, turns his face away from those faded, amber eyes as Ardyn undresses him. Fabric pools around his ankles - his pants, discarded - and then those lifeless fingers are curling around his flesh, stroking him until he's half-hard and nearly sick with disgust.  

"Why fight it, pet?" Ardyn's words are maddening. "Your body enjoys this, it's only natural."

"N-no...."

"Is it so wrong to give in to your darkest desires?"

From inside the cell, Gladio growls, low, dangerous. He spits out a mouthful of blood. "Get your fuckin' hands off him.  _ Now. _ "

A laugh, genuine mirth, and Arydn's fingers coil around Prompto's flesh tight enough to pull a scream from his lips. "I take nothing that wasn't offered freely."

_ "The hell it was." _

"But can’t you see?" The hand resting on Prompto's hip draws away, only to return at his lower back seconds later. The blond struggles, his eyes wide and bright with terror, but he can't stop Ardyn from going further, trailing his fingers down between the cheeks of his ass to press at the tight ring of muscles he finds there. "He's practically begging me for it."

Prompto can't speak, can't even cry out. This is a nightmare, it has to be - and now Gladio is watching him again, his expression shadowed, hurt. There's pain, yes, when that first finger forces its way into him, and fear. But most of all, there's shame. 

_ Please. Don't look. _

Ardyn is mercifully quick when he takes him. Perhaps he's been waiting for this chance, is too eager to chase his satisfaction to draw things out. Or, more likely, the act is simply a means to an end. Another way to break them all, to tear apart everything Noctis every loved or held dear in his twisted plan for revenge. It doesn't really matter what drives him - not in that moment, and not for Prompto, whose body feels used, shattered, traitorous. 

Because despite the pain, despite his cries and trembling pleas, in the end Ardyn still forces him to climax. A horrible, wrenching orgasm that turns his stomach even as he releases into Ardyn's waiting fist.  _ No, no, this is wrong, so terribly, horribly wrong--! Gladio, _ he wants to scream, seeing the rage and the tears through the blood on his face.  _ This isn't me--! _

The voice in his ear cuts him deeper than any knife. "Ah, but my dear, boy. Even you have  _ no idea _ who you are."

Ardyn's words are followed by a sharp hiss of breath, and he grips Prompto tight as he empties himself into him. Pulse after pulse, his hard length slams deep into the blond's body again and again. Until at last, with a sigh, Ardyn withdraws. He leaves Prompto to collapse forward into the iron bars, his legs no longer able to support his own weight. 

"I hope you enjoy your gift, pet," he says, wiping a thumb across his lips before adjusting himself back into his clothes. Face pressed to cold metal, Prompto can only watch through unsteady eyes as he begins to retreat down the hall. At the stairs, he turns one last time, and tips his hat to the both of them. "Remember who it is you serve now." 

His wicked grin dissolving into the shadows is the last thing Prompto sees. 


	2. Playmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto counts the passage of time in the bruises Ardyn leaves on his body. Clings to the fading hope that a chance will yet come to escape, to save his friends. To save Gladio. 
> 
> But the Demon is always watching him. And he brings along some familiar faces to ensure that his pet will never stray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DARK DARK DARKNESS AHEAD - Lot's of psychological trauma and fucked up creepy shit. Including a gangbang and murder. Prompto is a fucking wreck at the beginning of this chapter, and is even worse by the end. So yeah. Read with caution please!! 
> 
> Also, a little bit of clarification: this DarkVerse takes place on an alternate timeline, one in which the boys never made it to Altissia, Noct flipped off the Gods and the Crystal, and eternal night fell early. Which also means Episode Prompto never happened. Which means...Prompto is about to get a very rude awakening. 
> 
> For Promdyn Ship Week Day 5 - prompt "Obsession" 
> 
> (Thanks also to you lovely readers who have enjoyed this pool of misery and left comments :) If there are any tags I missed, please feel free to let me know!!!!)

Prompto’s body is always cold now. All the time, no matter how hard he fights to get warm. It feels like a sickness has been spreading through him for days; an icy poison in his veins, coiling ever tighter around his heart in an attempt to squeeze the very life from him. 

Sometimes, he wishes it would hurry. Death would be a sweet release compared to the torment he faces at the hands of the Demon. His body, half-frozen as it is with Ardyn’s ‘gift,' no longer belongs to him. His mind no longer belongs to him, at least during the hours when the others in the Citadel are awake. Prompto is ever being watched now. 

Yet despite it all, he manages to find some small hope in the eventuality of escape. Noct is too far gone for reason anymore, and Ignis is lost beyond saving; but Gladio still needs his help. At least, Prompto tells himself so. He has to believe that there’s a reason to go on, that things will somehow, someday, get better again. He has to believe that Gladio is still alive down in those ruined dungeons, because anything less would destroy him. 

He has to believe, and yet he also longs to see for himself. So he plans, and plots, alone and cold in the darkest shadows of the endless night.  _ Tonight _ , he thinks, hugging his bare knees to his chest as he rocks against the wall.  _ Tonight I’ll go to him. Once Ardyn is asleep, I’ll sneak down to the cells. Tonight I’ll save him. Tonight.  _

* * *

 

Something is wrong. The air is thick with tension, Prompto can feel it the second he steps into Ardyn’s chambers. Like a constant thrum it sets his nerves on edge, makes him shiver with more than just the chill. Just inside the door, he hesitates. 

Outwardly, nothing appears any different. The room is the same chaos of extravagance and excess as usual - its high walls adorned with tapestries and paintings, worn and faded with time; golden sconces and candelabras, glittering in the dim light; a bed, grand enough for the king Ardyn has fashioned himself to be, and covered in rich, silken sheets of purple, ivory, and black. From what Prompto can tell, the room is unchanged - and yet the sinking horror that tonight will be unlike all the other nights stays with him. 

Ardyn himself is already on the bed. He’s reclined atop the cushions near the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Between his fingers, he holds a strip of something black, and Prompto finds his eyes drawn to it even as he’s beckoned further into the room. 

“This is getting easier,” the Demon purrs. “You’ve learned to come without being called.”

Prompto swallows back his pride and nods once. Follows his owner’s command right up to the foot of the bed, where he’s made to kneel before the mattress. It doesn’t matter; his knees are scuffed and numb to the cold stone anyway. What really concerns him is that piece of black  _ something _ in Ardyn’s hands, because it almost looks as if he’s holding….

“Yet another gift for you, pet.” The nickname, hated as it is, rolls off of Ardyn’s lips on the end of a smile. “Come closer, let me put it on you.” 

Despite the panic rising in his gut, Prompto obeys. Heavy blue eyes fall to the sheets as Ardyn approaches, and he tries to concentrate on the pattern of delicate embroidery there. Stares, unblinking, as if the shimmering gold threads can somehow take him away from the very rough, very  _ real _ collar sliding into place around his throat. Ardyn’s fingers are like fire against his half-frozen skin. They linger even after they’ve fastened the clasp, tugging on the leather strap to test its restraint. And Ardyn smiles. 

“It suits you. Get on the bed. Leave your clothes.” 

Prompto pushes himself up on numb legs.  _ Cold. So cold.  _ He hugs his shirt tighter around his body as he crawls forward into Ardyn’s waiting lap. Swallows hard, feeling the pressure of the collar like a brand against his skin.  _ Tonight,  _ he reminds himself, mind already abandoning his body.  _ Tonight.  _

He observes through distant eyes as his shirt is unbuttoned, slowly and from the bottom upwards. Beneath he's naked, and his pale skin is marked in countless places by dark, painful bruises; a reminder of whose hands now lay claim over him as often and as harsh as they please. Each mark holds a memory - of hurt, of something taken - but to Ardyn the sight is as mouthwatering as a feast. He hums, running his fingers over a particularly deep bruise at the bottom of Prompto’s rib cage and feeling the flesh tremble under his touch.

“You’re beautiful, like this.” Those fingers trail up, over the round, pink bud of a nipple. Prompto can feel Ardyn’s lust beginning to stir to life in his lap. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Did you ever let those friends of yours see you like this?”

The shirt is pushed back off of thin shoulders. Prompto hears the question, but the words don’t register, get lost somewhere in the haze of his mind. Ardyn’s voice is like a far away dream, and he’s closing his eyes, shutting everything out as he drifts further, further—

A sharp tug on the collar around his neck pulls him back with a gasp. “I asked you a question, pet.” Yellow eyes, hard as they examine him, serve as a reminder of Prompto’s precarious position. 

“Ah, y-yes.” 

“Yes?”

“I m-mean, no. No, they never -“

“Not even that beast of a man in the dungeons?” 

The quick breath Prompto inhales is telling. Ardyn smiles, the expression terribly wicked, as his fingers curl tighter around supple black. “Has he touched you?  _ Fucked _ you? Have you spread yourself for him as prettily as you do for me?”

“N-no….”

“But you want to.”

“I don’t -“

His collar is tugged so harshly it forces the rest of the air out of his lungs. He chokes, gasps helplessly for breath, his eyes going wide when he  _ can’t find it _ . Panicking, Prompto’s fingers automatically fly to the wrist holding him in place. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” Ardyn smirks. “Even now you’re thinking about him, don’t deny it. Am I not enough for you?”

Lungs starting to burn, Prompto nods his head frantically in answer. 

“Oh? Which is that supposed to mean, I wonder.” Almost playfully, Ardyn strokes the pad of his thumb over the taut leather as he speaks. “ _ Yes, _ you need  _ more? _ ” 

This time the blond shakes his head in a desperate  _ no _ , but the gesture is lost on his captor.  Already Ardyn is moving away from him, releasing the collar in his grasp even as he slips from the bed. Ignores the ragged breaths as Prompto sucks in lungful after lungful of air, and instead reaches for something on the nightstand - something long, silver.  _ A chain _ . The Demon holds it up for inspection and his yellow eyes twinkle with mirth. 

Prompto is commanded onto all fours. He cringes at the bite of cold steel against his neck when Ardyn fits the last link over the strap of the collar and fastens it tight again. Shudders as the chain is looped around one of the posts of the bed, slackened and left to hang there. It tells him not only that Ardyn plans to leave both hands free, but also that whatever he’s going to do, he intends to drag it out. 

“Now, now, I know it isn’t really your fault.” The stroke of knuckles over the curve of his cheek threatens to turn Prompto’s stomach even more than that falsely sweet voice. “And you’ve been such a  _ good pet _ for me, truly, you have. Deserving of a reward, I should think.”

_ No, please, stop…. _

“That’s why I’ve prepared a few familiar faces to lend me a hand this evening.”

_ N-no. _

“Let’s see if we can satisfy this insatiable body of yours,  _ hmm? _ ”

The hand on his cheek shoves him then, knocking him over onto his side even as the chain wrenches taut. Prompto’s head is jerked up and, as if on cue, catches sight of shadows slithering out from under the bed. 

No, not shadows.  _ Bodies _ . Human bodies, but moving in ways no human should. Garbed in black, their limbs twist and bend at unnatural joints, whirr and click as they slot back into place piece by piece. Prompto watches in horror as for figures like marionettes rise to their feet, twitching slowly, mechanically, until they turn as one to face him. 

He isn’t even aware he’s screaming. 

_ They’re...him. All of them, the same blond hair, the same blue irises, the same freckles spattering their pale cheeks. Even the same collars around their slender necks. All of them are wearing  _ his _ face, only expressionless, more robotic, their lips drawn into tight lines as they stare, unblinking, at their likeness chained to the bed.  _

_ It isn’t real. It’s a nightmare.  _

He can’t stop screaming. 

_ More of Ardyn’s tricks. They aren’t. Fucking. Real.  _

He’s losing his mind.  __

The figures begin to move towards him, crawling onto the bed with jerky movements, and Prompto kicks out at them. Scrambles away until his shoulder hits the headboard and he’s twisting his fingers in the chain, tugging, pulling, trying to break free. 

One of the things wearing his face grabs his ankle. It’s...warm, surprisingly warm compared to his own freezing limbs.  _ Alive _ . Prompto’s panic turns feral. 

“Get off! Get off, get the  _ fuck  _ away!” he screeches, leg flying out wildly in an attempt to shake it. From somewhere near the end of the bed, Ardyn  _ tuts.  _

“And here I thought you’d be happy to be reunited. Don’t you even recognize your own family?” 

_ Lies, lies. They aren’t real.  _

“They’ve been  _ dying _ to meet you, of course. Quite literally, and in droves.” He holds something up - armor - no, a helmet - and in the back of his mind Prompto realizes he’s seen it before. But….  _ That’s impossible. _ “How did it never occur to you boys to take even the slightest peek under the mask? I wonder, perhaps, if your friends knew more about your... _ condition _ than they let on?” 

He’s smiling again, but Prompto’s attention is no longer on Ardyn. The closest of the figures (and he knows now without truly understanding that it’s an MT) has reached his side and is carefully examining his right arm. Holds his wrist as it strokes lifelike fingers over the barcode imprinted there. 

Prompto feels sick. 

His head is spinning, this is too much,  _ too much _ , and yet -- 

Ardyn is still there. The collar, the chain. It’s obvious what he means to do - what he means for  _ these MTs _ to do - to him. Focusing on the sickening reality of the moment is far easier than the truth that his mind is attempting to reject. And so he lashes out at the nearest pair of hands on him, pushes and shoves to get free and as far away as he can. “ _ Don’t, don’t, please!”  _ Prompto cries, shuddering when his heel connects with a nose and he feels it crunch under his foot. “ _ Stop it!” _

Blood drips onto the sheets from the face of the injured MT. Though its eyes remain blank, emotionless, it stumbles back from the edge of the bed and twitches violently, as if in pain. The other MTs, too, stop their advance long enough to turn and watch.

With a dramatic sigh, Ardyn appears again on the edge of Prompto’s vision. His arms are crossed, and he’s twirling something idly between the fingers of one hand as he frowns at the scene. “This is why we can’t have nice things, pet.”

Prompto doesn’t see his fingers move, but he hears the click of a button and then there’s a flash of light. The clasp of the bleeding MT’s collar blinks red one, twice, the pulses growing faster, more urgent, until the other three are scuttering toward the far side of the bed away from him. The lone figure freezes. There’s a sound like gurgling and then a long, high-pitch squeal before the MT drops to the floor, twitches, and goes deathly still. 

The collar is drenched in blood when it slips from around that slender neck. 

Terror grips Prompto like a kiss from Shiva herself. Nothing moves. He can’t tear his eyes from the dead body on the floor, can’t shake off his shock long enough to scream. Seeing his  _ own face _ drained of color and life, watching his  _ own eyes _ roll back in the finality death.It isn’t until Ardyn approaches him, smiling and holding the small, unassuming remote in front of his face, that Prompto even remembers to breathe. 

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop breaking my toys. These are limited edition, you know.”

“You… killed it.”  _ Him. You killed him.  _

A shrug. “ _ Kill _ is such a strong word."

"You're a psychopath!"

"I prefer  _ creative _ . After all," the Demon purrs, touching the tip of his index finger to Prompto’s lips as if to silence him. "Now I don't need to demonstrate what will happen if you try to betray me again." 

The blond’s breath hitches. Ardyn strokes his finger down over his bottom lip, his chin, down to settle against the clasp of the collar at the base of his throat. The collar  _ identical  _ to the ones the MTs are wearing. And his blue eyes go wide. 

"Be a good boy and spread your legs for me."

Time moves in fluxuations. One moment, he's curled in on himself against the pillows, the next his arms are being held down and his thighs pulled apart. The lips that kiss him are warm enough, but they lack emotion as they devour his breath - mechanically, purposefully. Ardyn is the one who slicks him. His fingers push their way inside his half-numb body, two of them twisting their way in up to the knuckle, but his intention is hardly to ease Prompto’s pain. 

The blond groans as pressure assaults his prostate. Again, and again, sending harsh pulses of detested pleasure coursing along his nerves. It makes him sick, makes him hate himself just a little bit more because despite his fear, his body is already reacting. By the time the MTs’ hands fall on him, he's nearly hard and his hips are writhing traitorously against Ardyn’s hand. 

Time shifts again. When Prompto comes back to awareness, he's on his knees. Someone - or some _ thing _ \- is behind him, thrusting powerfully into him with unerring precision. He tries to cry out, but his throat is raw. He coughs, gags on his own breath, and then horribly familiar fingers are clasping his chin. Ardyn holds his head steady as he once again feeds him his cock. 

Blackness swirls.  _ He's losing his mind, he's losing control. His body no long belongs to him - it's a toy, one of the Demon’s playthings, meant to be used, broken, used some more.  _

Unnaturally strong arms hold him upright as he's fucked down into the MT’s lap. There are fingers in his hair, too many to count, turning his face this way and that as his mouth is filled again and again and again and again. 

Meanwhile, yellow eyes watch in amusement from the end of the bed. The Puppet Master enjoying his own show. 

Prompto’s eyes roll back. 

_ Tonight. _

Too late. He's already lost his mind.  __

_ Gladio.  _

Something hot and bitter spills into his throat and he feels bile rising up to meet it.

_ Gladio. I love you.  _

_ Noct. Iggy.  _

_ I'm sorry.  _

_ I'm so sorry.  _

_ I'm so…. _

* * *

 

The sky beyond the broken windows seems darker than usual. Feels as if even the moon has given up trying to shine through the haze. 

Prompto keeps one hand on the wall as he walks. His fingers catch on the rough stone, bleeding where the skin has been torn, but he doesn’t notice. Every part of him is numb. Beneath him, his legs move awkwardly, unsteadily. Each step sends icy splinters up his spine. He ignores them, keeps walking. 

_ Tonight. Tonight. Tonight.  _

Hope is gone, but he has to see him anyway. 

_ Tonight.  _

He has to, because he’s already so broken. So tired. 

_ Gladio _ .

He has to see him, even if it’s the last thing he does. 

  
  



End file.
